I left Kaohsiung at about 7:30 in the morning on Sunday, September 7th. The first forty five minutes I inhaled exhaust fumes from motorcycles and was nearly asphyxiated by the gases coming out of the various factories on the south end of town. But once I got clear of the sprawling metropolis the ride improved.

Following Rt 17 South, down the coast was beautiful. A couple of hours into the trip I turned off the highway, into a small village, on a promontory, jutting out into the ocean, like a private peninsula. Children and dogs chased after me, like the Pied Piper, and I couldn't help but feel jealous of them. They had all of the private beach space they could ever need. What's more, they could run and play in the streets all day, safe from cross traffic, and under the watchful eye of neighbors who all, undoubtedly, knew, and watched out for each other.

Everyone came out to stare at the stranger from another world. I can't say I blame them, however. I did look pretty strange. Instead of my usual expedition clothing, I was wearing bicycle togs, complete with helmet. If not for the shorts, they might have confused me with a Mormon missionary. My bike also looks extremely strange. It is a Taiwanese made copy of a European racing bike. It has toe-clips, 21 speeds, indexed shifting, thin racing tires, aerodynamic rims, and flat tubing, . The original bike probably cost about $1,000 US. But my Taiwanese copy cost $3,000 NT (about $100 US). I like to call my style of expedition "adventure on the cheap."

The strangest aspect of my bike is that I couldn't find any place to buy panniers, or cycling bags. So, all of my gear is sitting inside of a large, plastic tub, which I mounted on the back of my bicycle. It is possible that people thought I was delivering milk or selling ice cream. The tub works out OK, since it is virtually water-proof, and would probably help me stay afloat if I went off a bridge into the ocean. The down side is that it sits up too high, and gives the bike zero stability. Every time a car or truck goes by, I almost fall over. It also acts like a sail, and catches all of the wind ahead of me, reducing my speed. As it turns out, however, this feature would later save my life on a mountain descent. But that story comes later.

The ride from Kaohsiung to Kenting is flat, straight and easy. Not much of note happened on that leg. I did have one major setback, however. Coming out of McDonald’s, I was walking my bike across the parking lot, trying to decide if the beetlenut girl across the street was wearing underwear or not. I heard the voice of my old paisano, Marco Polo, telling me not to look at the girl, but I couldn't help it. She was there, her skirt was exceedingly short, and her dress was see through. When I was in the Taklamakan Desert, Polo told me not to be lured off the path by visions of a lake glistening somewhere in the distance. I heeded his words, and I survived. But this time, I told Marco to go take a hike while I solved the panties issue. While I was so distracted, and so engaged, the bike flipped over. My plastic tub came flying off, and my gear, underwear and all, spilled out all over McDonald's parking lot. I only barely managed to re-attach it, realising that I definitely needed to find a better way to carry my gear.

I was planning to spend my first night out on the beach at Kenting. It started raining, so I crawled under the police station, where it was dry. The police kept a watchful eye, to make sure no one camped on the beach, and I dosed happily below. Around 2:00 a.m. a police dog crawled under the house, mistakenly believing he was going to sleep there. I let him know, in no uncertain terms, that I was prepared to fight him for the space. Luckily, he just licked my hand, and settled down next to me.

The second day was awful! No one told me there were mountains in Taiwan. Actually, I think someone told me, but I was watching the Simpsons at the time, so I just said something like "Yeah, yeah, mountains..." and forgot the whole incident. The mountains at the south of the island were terrible. They just kept going up and up. But the views were incredible. One minute I was in the tropical heat of the beach. The next minute, I was on a wooded trail, shaded on both sides, climbing into the sky. I was able to get any number of incredible photos which show both beach and mountains together. At one point, at the extreme south of the island, I was at the top of a mountain, with ocean visible on both sides. That was incredible.

I spent most of six hours just cutting across to a small town, called Da Wu, on the East coast. I rolled off the mountains and onto the coast around 5:00 pm. It was my first time on the East Coast, and I couldn't believe how beautiful it was. The east coast has nothing but empty, undeveloped beaches, where you could stop and swim, or do anything you wanted to, completely free of the hassles associated with dealing with tourists and tourist resorts. Things were also noticeably cheaper on the east coast.

As dark approached I spied a wooden picnic pavilion, with an ocean view, about a hundred meters from a restaurant. Needless to say, it had my name on it. I had dinner at the restaurant, then lay under the pavilion, and let the sound of the surf lull me to sleep.

The third day was the best day of riding. It was completely flat, and never left the coast. I got most of my good beach pictures on the third day. A few miles outside of Taidong my cell phone rang. It was a friend calling to see if I was OK, and where I was. I had to laugh. We go on adventures to get away from cell phones and computers. But then we go to great lengths to take them with us. The strange thing about adventure in Taiwan is that your cell phone will work anywhere on the island. In fact, I was on an adventure, but no one else knew that. While I was sleeping under the police office in Kenting, there were people, two hundred meters away, paying $2,500 a night for a hotel room. I was having fun, but all of this civilisation was making me wish I was back in the Taklamakan Desert. Giving in to technology, I rode into town and checked my email.

I was about thirty kilometers north of Taidong when, around 4:30 I spied the Blessed Mother on the road up ahead. At first I thought it was another of those hallucinations, like the beetlenut girl, but Marco told me it was real. I turned off at the Virgin Mary statue, and followed the road straight up, at about a 70 degree angle. At the top, there was a Catholic church. There was a shrine out front, with the Holy Mother, surrounded by incense. It was interesting to me. I had read, in that famous book about Taiwan, "Keeping up With the War Gods," that the Catholic church in Taiwan had gone to great lengths to accommodate local culture, and incorporate it into the religion, to make it more palatable to converts. I knelt at the altar to give thanks for my safe arrival, but the smell of the incense and the shape and configuration of the kneelers made me feel like I was at a Buddhist worship service, back in the Shaolin Temple, when I had studied there. I began doing prostrations, in spite of myself. I don't think God was offended, though. It was all a sign of respect.

I poked around the church, looking for the priest, and noticed a number of signs and prayers written in Latin script, but in a language completely foreign to me. For a moment, I thought that I had stumbled on a Philippine Catholic church. An ancient woman, smoking a cigar and chewing beetle nuts, came out to greet me.
"I'm looking for the priest." I said.

She lead me to heavyset man, working in the garden with a number of dark-skinned converts. Now, until this moment, I had attributed the dark skin of the people on the East Coast to the fact that they were out in the sun all day. What's more, I had decided that the strange language they spoke among themselves was Taiwanese. The woman spoke to me in Mandarin, and to the priest in another language. Then the priest spoke to me in Mandarin, saying that I could stay the night. That's when I finally figured out what was going on. I was in an aboriginal Catholic church. It turned out that the priest, Father Steven, and all of his flock were Amei Zu ren (Amei tribe) aboriginals. It then occurred to me that everyone I had met, who spoke this strange language was aboriginal. Father Steven told me the majority of the population on the East Side are aboriginals. Oddly, all of them, with the exception of the very, very old, spoke perfect Mandarin when they spoke to me.

Father Steven lead me through the church compound, which centered around a traditional aboriginal log house. I was given my own room, with a shower and a fan. "This is a good room." Said Father Steven. "The old priest lived in here for thirty three years."
"Why did he give it up?" I asked.
"He died, in that bed." Said Father Steven, pointing.
"Great!"
After I had showered I sat with Father Steven and the Amei Zu people. They lived a communal existence, all living and working together on the church grounds. "I have been living here since I was three years old." Father Steven told me.

We ate together, outdoors, at a large table. Afterwards, the old people told stories, the women smoked cigars, and everyone chewed beetle nuts. Periodically one of them walked around with a pitcher full of fruit flavored fire water, and we all drank from the same cup. "All the young people go away." He told me sadly. "There are no jobs here. They all leave for the city to go to school or to work. Then they get married, and they never come back. You see that house?" He asked, pointing. "It is empty. Also that one, that one that one. Nine empty houses right here by the church."

There was a young Amei Zu boy, who was attending high school. "Do you speak Amei Zu language at school?" I asked.
"No, all of the teachers are Han Zu (ethnic Chinese). They make us speak Mandarin."
"The young people don't speak the language anymore." Said Father Steven. "We write it, with Latin letters in church. But that's it. Now, there are so few people here they have to travel thirty kilometers to school. They learn Mandarin and they forget who they are. before this yard was full fifty, sixty people. We would all eat and sit together all night. But now, one wants to watch TV. The other one wants to play computer. It is all ending."
I could have stayed a thousand years with Father Steven and his family.

The next morning I pushed into the mountains again, approaching Hualien. At some points, the going was so tough I thought I would die. It took me all day just to do 90 kilometers. I saw a sign which said "Hualien 30 KM." Three hours later, I saw another sign which said "Hualien 30 Km." I suspect I may have taken a wrong turn. Either way, it was disheartening. I wanted to pull to the side of the road and rest in the shade, but there was none. When I finally saw a spot carved out of the jungle, big enough for my body, I collapsed, and was out for about twenty minutes. When I came to, I decided that if things didn’t improve soon, I would give up. That's when it started raining.

When I finally made it to Hualien for real, I luckily stumbled onto a Catholic church. The Sisters were very sweet, and offered me a place to stay. I was only going to stay the night, but I decided to stay two nights and get some rest. At a 7/11 I met an American cyclist, named Eric, who I told about my journey. "That stretch in the mountains really did me in." I said.
"Mountains?" He asked. "There are no mountains south of here. There are a few hills, maybe. But all of the mountains are north. You'll see them tomorrow. 80 kilometers straight up."
He followed this with. "That's my favorite part of cycling in Taiwan. Where else can you get 80 km straight up?"
"Yeah, that's my favorite part too." I lied. If I wasn't so tired I would have thrown a Shaolin kick at his knee cap, and asked him how he liked cycling now.

I've lived in a Buddhist monastery for a period of months, and no offense to my Buddhist kungfu brothers, but Catholics live much better than Buddhists. The Sisters put me up in a private room, with a bath. I have a ceiling fan, and there is cable in the TV room. And, everything is spotless. It really beats the outhouse and weeks without a shower that I had living in a Buddhist monastery. I think I may write a hotel guide book rating the accommodations at various religions and houses of worship. Tomorrow will be a hard day. So, I have to get some rest.


This is the first instalment of Antonio's adventure cycling around Taiwan. Watch out for further instalments.
See also:
Part 2 - Hualien to Suao
Part 3 - Suao to Taipei
Part 4 - Taipei to Taichung
Part 5 – The Final Chapter
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